


To Kiss You With

by sesquipedalianMarquis



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Consensual, Devotion, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Half-orc, In Medias Res, Male Solo, Masturbation, POV Third Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Robots, Warforged, affectionate nicknames, but it's not like. kinky or anything, except his partner is there?, heavy emphasis on consent, i genuinely struggle to tag this, non-human experience of intimacy, wholesome couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesquipedalianMarquis/pseuds/sesquipedalianMarquis
Summary: Here's Mala, a warforged with no genitals or sex drive or interest in intercourse in general. Here's her boyfriend Pedro, a half-orc who has all of the above. It works out pretty well, because they communicate and respect each other's boundaries.Basically, this is a short bit of smut from the perspective of an asexual non-human character.





	To Kiss You With

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Phosphorescence7991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorescence7991/gifts).



It still feels like a dreadfully big step. But she’s used to having him in her arms, to sharing his space and his company. Just… never like this before.

 

“If you want to move away, or leave, you can,” he says.

“I know.” She runs a hand over his hair. The metal clasps around his locks click against her fingers.

“And if you want me to stop, just say the word. I will. If you’re uncomfortable, all you need to do is say it.” He twists a bit to look her in the eyes and she nods.

“I know I can,” she says and runs her fingers down his neck in the way she knows he likes. The novelty of it hasn’t worn off, even after all this time; he’s moving in her embrace even when he’s still, his chest moving with breath, his heart beating. If Mala wants, she can stand perfectly still for hours, like a statue. He couldn’t if he tried. Dwelling on it makes something in her ache with how different they are.

“I can hear you thinking up there,” Pedro says, still looking at her. He touches the side of his head to her faceplate, the closest thing to a kiss he can get without turning around entirely. “Are you alright with this?”

She settles her arms around his chest, feels his weight against her.

“Yes. I’m good, I think.”

He runs one hand over hers, tenderly as if they were sitting and watching the stars together. It loosens the knot of anxiety in her head a little bit.

“Touch me?” he asks, and it’s such a gentle request. She moves one of her hands up his chest in a slow exploratory pass, traces the contours of his muscle under his skin, the lines of his tattoos. He rests his head back against her shoulder and Mala is glad she’s leaning against the headboard; even made of metal and wood as she is, she would not be able to hold him up if he went dead weight. When her finger traces up his side, he twitches against her, an involuntary sensory response. Fascinated, she repeats the motion, and he squirms again.

“That tickles,” he says, like he’s suppressing laughter.

“Oh, sorry!” She removes her hand, palm just an inch from his skin.

“That’s fine. Just go more firmly and it won’t be as ticklish.” His warm, soft hand closes over hers, presses it against his side. She tries again, strokes up more firmly until she can trace the line of his pectoral muscle.

“Better?”

“Better.” He melts into her again, runs his hands over his stomach to the groove of his hips.

Mala watches herself idly trace the wave motif on his shoulder. If she had lips, maybe she would try kissing his neck. People seem to like that. The pang of being unable to is still sharp, a sick pain of inadequacy. But he wants this, wants  _ her_, so she lets her hands follow the shape of his body and holds him. It has to be enough.

It seems to be enough for Pedro, anyways. He’s got his hands on his thighs now, fingers pressing against the muscle through the soft fabric of his breeches. The motion pulls at the fabric over his groin and she can see the outline of his– of his  _ dick_. It sends something fluttering through her, something nervous and worried. She focuses on his breathing, then, to calm herself down, since she has no breath of her own for it. His is deep, steady, heavy on the exhale. There’s the slightest hitch to it when he drags the heel of his hand over his dick. She falls into it, follows the motion of his chest, rests the side of her head against his.

“Are you still alright, my love?” he asks, hands back on his thighs. He sounds… relaxed. Calm. It’s balm to her always-frayed nerves.

“This is weird,” she admits. “And I’m worried I’ll do something wrong. But I trust you.”

“You’re doing good. I like when you hold me. I like being close to you.” He turns his head and kisses the side of her head. “Do I have your okay to keep going?”

“Yes. You do.” She brings up a hand to caress his face and he leans into the touch with a hum, lets his head tip against her. He trusts her, with his body, strong and fragile at once, and with his heart. She strokes over his chest again, over the compass inked over his heart. His pulse beats under it, steady, heavy.

One of his hands dips under the fabric of his breeches, moves unhurried, luxurious. There’s a content sigh on his lips.

“This is good,” he tells her, encouragement and confession with one hand down his pants. “I like that you’re here. I’m glad for it.”

“You’re enjoying yourself?”

“Very much.” The lazy smile on his face makes her feel smitten all over again. If she had lips of her own, she’d kiss his, savour his smile on hers. As it is, she moves the hand that’s cradling the side of his face, brushes a finger along his cheek, over his smile. Her finger clicks against on of his tusks. His mouth opens just a little and she can feel his breath against the wood of her hand. He presses a light kiss to her fingertip.

“Hmm, I like that.”

“My hand?”

“Mmh. Keep it there, if you like.” His lips brush her finger when he speaks. She rests thumb on his bottom lip and he makes a sound of approval. Does she like it? He does. So she keeps her hand where it is, strokes the other over his chest. She can feel him sigh, chest rising and falling under her palm, when he does something with his hand in his breeches.

He moves, then, pulls his trousers down to his thighs, and his smalls along, wraps a hand around his dick. She’s seen it before, when they go swimming or when he changes clothes, but it’s different here, intimate. He pauses, kisses her fingertip and tips his head so he can see what he’s doing; Mala rests her hand against the side of his neck while he fumbles some oil from his pocket and greases his palm. He puts the oil aside and leans his head into hers, a gentle nuzzle that might be a kiss if she had the face for it, before he settles against her shoulder again and strokes himself with a slick hand.

She watches his face as he goes. His eyes are closed, and she’s struck every time by how pretty and long his eyelashes are. In other moments, she likes to trace the shapes of his face, his wide nose, his strong jaw, his soft lips, his features dark under her hands. He just relaxes and lets her, says he enjoys the attention. Now, he moans quietly, lips parting with the sound. She traces up his neck until the metal on her fingers clicks against his earrings, strokes his cheek. He turns his head to kiss her hand, and she lets her fingers rest over his lips again.

Her eyes wander down his body again, where his hips flex into his touch. Mala can see the muscles in his thighs move. Still unhurried, but with intent now; he’s settling into a rhythm. It’s oddly harmonious, the way his hand moves in counterpoint to his hips, the way his breath matches up. Even if it’s small movements with no frenzy to them, his whole body moves with it. She regards his head where it’s resting against her shoulder, his soft lips, the long line of his throat, down to his chest where her hand rests against his stomach, wood and metal on his dark brown skin. The sun here is good to him. He’s happier when he can bask in it, when he’s warm and happy, even if the sun sometimes heats Mala up so much she’d blister his skin if he touched her.

She snaps out of her wandering thoughts when he makes another quiet sound. Maybe dragged out of him by the driving rhythm of his body. Maybe on purpose, for show. Mala doesn’t know if he tends to be loud or quiet during sex, but it doesn’t feel put on. His expression is open, unguarded; he’s chasing his pleasure now, maybe distracted from the fact he’s still cradled against her chest–

No, he’s not, he leans his head into her touch, covers her other hand with his free one, links their fingers on his stomach. But he’s clearly getting where he wants to be: his breath is shorter, choppy, and his movements lose a bit of their precision, just a bit faster and off-beat.

He comes like that, holding her hand, head on her shoulder, with a long, shuddering breath. And then he slumps for a few long beats, dead weight on her, until his heart rate calms and his breathing slows again. She strokes over his shoulder with the hand he’s not holding and is strangely reminded of the way Pedro gentles his horse.

“That was good,” he says, blinks up at her with the softest, most relaxed smile.

“Yeah?” She bumps her head against his gently, and he kisses her faceplate.

“Yeah. Let me get cleaned up, and then we can read. Or nap.”

She releases him and watches him move to the bathroom. When he returns, he’s in a fresh pair of breeches and fetches her her book from the shelf.

“No book for you?”

“No, I think I’ll have a nap.” He snags one of the pillows, puts it on her lap and sprawls on the mattress, splayed out in front of her with his head in her lap. She strokes his hair, doesn’t pick up the book quite yet.

“Was that alright with you? Not too weird?” he asks after a long moment of calm. He’s looking up at her with those warm brown eyes.

“I think so, yes.” She considers it. “I don’t think I’d care for it if this was a frequent thing, but I think… once in a while would be alright.”

“Thank you for sharing with me, mi amada.” He pats her thigh and lets his eyes slide closed again. Mala looks down at him for the zillionth time and feels love in her mechanical, magical heart.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: while this is a F/M relationship pedro is bisexual and trans and mala is panromantic, asexual and also trans... queer rights babey


End file.
